Clinic Duty: Interesting edition
by Phoenixfyretail
Summary: Clinic Duty. House's sworn enemy. Boring every time. Until someone decided to add in boobs, not boringness, and a touch of attraction. Mild House/Female!OC Rated T because: House Boobs.


Okay, he would admit it. Either this was going to be an interesting case, or an extremely idiotic one for him to waste his time on again. Thanks Cuddy. And Chase, for being an asshole of a subordinate wombat and refusing to do his clinic hours.

"Hi. I'm Doctor House. What seems to be the problem?" He shut the door behind him, and did a double take at the figure on the table, before sitting down on his stool, and making a show of looking at the file when in fact, he was avidly staring at her. Apparently she wasn't dumb though, and met his eyes with a blank stare that said she totally wasn't falling for his fake show of looking at the medical file in front of his face. Granted, he wasn't trying to hide it though, so he sighed, and tore his bright blue eyes away from her very well formed breasts and instead actually looked over the file in front of him.

"There is no problem, Dr. House. I'm here because my coach won't let me on the ice without getting a physical first, because I've been out of the country for so long. So he made me come to the clinic." Her voice was deeper than he had been expecting, but it was smooth and pleasant to listen to, didn't grate on his nerves. Okay, he could stand her so far.

At this, House raised an eyebrow, and flipped to her medical history in her chart. He noticed several visits for pulled tendons, a broken patella, a broken finger, boring, boring, boring, vaccinations, boring, boring, severe pneumonia, boring... oh that was interesting.

"Barcelona for an ice skating competition?" He asked, in his usual grumpy and sarcastic tone. She, however, was not even slightly bothered by it, instead flashing him a slight grin. He raised a brow, wondering why she wasn't cringing, or worse, crying, like most other girls do when he spoke to them.

"Yes. Figure skating. Grand Prix Final. Trophy. All that." She said, just as sarcastically, watching as he popped some Vicodin before approaching her, leaning his cane against the table as he got close. Aria, as the girl's name was written on the chart, didn't even flinch. She sat tall and calm, all breasts, muscles, well built body, hips, and holy astonishingly green eyes. Dark hair was piled on her head in a bun, revealing a slender neck, and she just wore a black long sleeve shirt and black pants, her shoes off and tucked to the side on the floor, revealing black socks.

A choker was around her neck, and two hoops in her left ear, he noticed with something akin boredom.

"So, Aria, basic physical? Why don't you let your coach touch you?" He asked, now slightly bored as he washed his hands and came back to face her, limping his way to the rolling stool in front of the examination table she was seated on.

"To put it simply, he has the hands of a coach, not a doctor. He's entirely too rough with me. I hate it. He's a good instructor, and very strong, but not a medical examiner." She said with a slight laugh, and then stilled as he looked at her closely for a few seconds, examining her skin, eyes, alertness, and posture. She was radiating health, and her eyes were bright and awake, taking in her surroundings and noticing details about him, trying to figure him out. He snorted, and she raised an eyebrow at him, and then smirked.

Her breathing was even, and normal, and he watched the steady rise and fall of her chest for a few breaths, and then held out a hand for her wrist. Wordlessly, she settled her fine boned hand in his, and he could see the slight crookedness of her had-been-broken middle finger. He pressed two fingers to the pulse point at her wrist, and counted beats for 15 seconds. 64 beats per minute, slightly slow for someone of her size, but she had an amazing physique and was extremely active. He scribbled it down on her chart, noticing that the girl weighed significantly more than he thought she would. She stood at 5 feet 5 inches in height, but weighed nearly 150 pounds. He glanced at her hips and sighed, retracting that thought.

He watched her breathe while he took a thermometer from a drawer, and after slipping it under her tongue jotted down 17 breaths a minute and accepted the beeping thermometer from her, noting the perfect temperature; 98.6 degrees.

He slipped his stethoscope from around his neck, slipping the ear buds into his ears and rolled closer to her, standing up so he could lean his weight off his bad leg and against the table. He pressed the stethoscope against her chest, and noticed how she had stilled, just breathing calmly, totally relaxed.

"Gonna need to go lower now."

She nodded, clearly knowing he was going to be right next to her breasts, and between them.

He moved the diaphragm of the stethoschope lower and to the left, just above her breast, and listened for any abnormalities, which there were none. After pulling her shirt collar open a bit, he slipped down lower to a point between her breasts, fingers just barely brushing the soft mound of her left breast that rose and fell with each breath. Not. Fair.

He pulled back, and removed the ear buds, looking at her, and she knew what was coming.

"I need you to remove your shirt." Wordlessly, she nodded, peeling the black shirt off and revealing a torso lined with muscle, a long tribal tattoo of a black dragon, and-

"Holy shit, are those real?" He asked, turning back from closing the blinds. He blinked a few times, and just stared. She looked down, blushing, but nodding.

"Wow." House said, before limping over again and finishing by pressing the bell of the stethoscope to the last two points of a cardiac exam, one to right of her left breast, and one just underneath her breast, using the back of his hand to lift it enough to settle the bell against her chest. He noticed through the material of her black sports bra, that it was solid in the way that real breasts were, not the fake firmness of implants.

"No heart problems." He said in a way, that practically breathed, well duh. House walked behind her, and pressed the diaphragm of the stethoscope against her back, and had her breathe a deep breath and hold it a few times as he listened to the air intake and deflate in different lobes of the lungs. She was fine there too.

"You can put Your shirt back on." He grumbled as he slipped his stethoscope back around his neck. House made no effort to hide that he was watching the flex of the muscles in her torso flex as she drew the shirt back on.

And so it went, he tested reflexes, and muscle strength, peripheral vision, sense of touch, and smell, and taste. Her abdominal exam was all normal. House tested her balance, which was flawless, and she demonstrated an astonishing level of flexibility, showing she could balance on one foot while arched backward with a foot over her head.

"You were overseas a lot. Probably in the woods, on a hike or something?" He asked, in a way that he never was with patients, unless they got to him in a good way, getting a pair of gloves from the box on the wall. His voice was low and rough, but quiet, a form of doctor-patient intimacy that he never bothered with, but she had wormed her way into his good books, something that was exceedingly rare, and normally only happened with kids. She nodded in response to his hiking question, not sure what he was leading to, but getting a faint idea.

"Gonna need to check your hair for any parasites or ticks." She gave him a look that practically breathed doubt, and sighed, but began to let down her hair.

"Could be deadly, you know." He said sarcastically, watching as the bun on her head transformed from bun of dark hair to endless waves of long, dark, shiny and healthy hair. Hell, she could give Chase a run for his money in the nice hair department. Normally, he wouldn't bother with performing a scalp examination, but seeing as she had been overseas, and good God she was attractive, he found he actually didn't mind. House briefly wondered if he was going insane, or hallucinating again, but sort of prayed he wasn't, because Aria had really nice breasts.

"Please be gentle." She mumbled as he reached toward her head, and as House looked at her in confusion, having never had a patient ask before, his hands faltered. Her green eyes looked down, and she blushed, dare he say, adorably. What was wrong with him?

"I have sensitive follicles. A pull to my hair is horrendously painful." What Aria didn't mention was that if you touch it the right way, it can lead to amazing pleasure or put her to sleep. And there was no way she was going to admit that, not in the presence of this extremely attractive doctor, who was looking at her with some of the most piercing blue eyes she had ever seen.

House raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips slightly, but nevertheless, found his hands beginning to sift through Aria's hair, gently lifting the long locks of wavy hair and running a comb through each section, watching as the silk strands slipped cleanly between the teeth of the comb. Her eyes closed, and her body relaxed as he worked his way through the length of her hair, pondering this girl.

She was 23, and a championship figure skater. Amazingly attractive, had nice breasts, didn't bore him, and her company didn't make him cringe or repel him at all. What was going on with him? He must be going insane.

Having finished with the length of the strands and finding no bugs or anything of the sort, he tossed the plastic comb into the trash and used his fingers to sift through the roots of her hair, starting by her face. House inspected her entire scalp, behind her ears, and the back of her neck, and found no bugs or ticks at all. What he did find was that her hair was soft and silky when it brushed over the skin not covered by his gloves, and that it smelled soft and pleasant, something natural and like a woman, nothing like the chemical scent of fake vanilla that Cameron wore. Her hair also wasn't curled and there was no hair spray or products in it at all, nor did she wear makeup, except for a bit of chapstick.

He pulled back, shucking his gloves, and saying grumpily, to hide how relaxed he was, "You're fine. Nothing wrong with you."

Aria sighed and tied her slightly disheveled hair back up, saying, "I thought so. Thank you, Dr. House."

He looked at her strangely, watching as she hopped off the table and back into her shoes, going over and slipping back into her leather jacket; which was, he noted with interest, a motorcycle jacket.

"You ride?" He asked, gesturing to the jacket with his cane, a slight furrow to his brows, but a grin on his face. She grinned back, shrugging into the hefty weight of the padded jacket.

"Yeah. Do you?" He nodded, the grin escalating into a smile.

"Yup. Orange bike, huge scrape along the side." Aria's grin grew, and she replied, "I'm parked next to it. Suzuki Hayabusa." His eyes widened and he looked out the window, seeing that there was indeed a sleek black bike next to his orange one.

"Damn..." He mumbled, shaking his head. That bike had to have some serious kick when she got going.

"I'll take ya for a ride sometime." She said, shooting him a wink as she left the room. House stared after her, mouth open and more than a little aroused and confused. He hoped to God he wasn't hallucinating, because this was a good one.

Hours later, as he left the hospital to go home, House mounted his bike and noticed two things.

One, there was a piece of paper tucked under his gas cap, and two, there was a set of keys inside his helmet.

He opened the note, noticing that it was written in black ink and in a bold, looping, hand.

"House,

I've got dinner and beer. Bad movies. Motorcycles. Maybe, even some ice cream and take out if that's what you like. 567 W. Northumberland drive.

234-629-8850.

Aria."

He bounced the keys in his hand, and grinned an evil grin, blue eyes glinting.

He liked her already. This was definitely an interesting case.


End file.
